


hard head / wig split

by sickgirl_mp3



Category: ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhuuuummm
Genre: F/M, M/M, sigh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sickgirl_mp3/pseuds/sickgirl_mp3
Summary: how many sides to a story can there be?
Relationships: and again who else, who else - Relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. if mine is selected tonight, i know the devil's sweating

“Ain’t shit to do in Calabasas, man,” Aubrey sighs, eyes following a fly buzzing around his head as he sits on his back porch. 

Maybe, he thinks, he’s so bored that he’s dying from the inside out, and flies are already coming for him. He hears Jordan on the other end of the line chuckling. Aubrey Roy wishes he could laugh, too, but as cliché as it sounds, his boredom is deeper than he can even really express. It’s making him somewhat upset– not  _ mad- _ upset, but  _ unhappy _ ,  _ frustrated _ -upset. He can’t remember the last time he felt that way; prison, maybe. 

“We just gotta get you out that damn house, boy,” Jordan says dismissively, the smile he undoubtedly has on his face very audible. “All your ass has been doing is moving into your damn house, in Calabasas, away from your day one. It’s okay, though.”

“And do what?” Aubrey asks, laughing at Jordan’s accusations. “It’s been a week… man, don’t act like I’m halfway ‘cross the world, now.”

“It’s a long ass drive, fool,” Jordan says as if Aubrey should already know. “Anyway, you know what the fuck is about to go down if– nah,  _ when _ – I see you, Roy. Whatever it is, it’s about to be a movie. Stop worryin’ about all that. I’m for real right now. Listen..”

Jordan trailing off like that is a telltale sign of an upcoming offer Aubrey shouldn’t, can’t, and/or won’t refuse.

“I’m coming down there tomorrow and we’re turning up, I don’t care. On God. I don’t give a fuck what you say– so you better be ready. I’m ‘bout to give you a ten minute warning, tops. Your ass ain’t outside in ten minutes? It’s you and me. And you about to be lucky with that, ‘cause I ain’t bringing no reinforcements, even though I probably should, nigga,” Jordan says.

“Man…” Aubrey trails off, fighting a smile. “Whatever. Get off my damn phone, bro, you doing too much.”

“You not doing enough, bored nigga,” Jordan singsongs before Aubrey is left with the  _ click  _ of Jordan hanging up.

That night Majid falls asleep with his arms around Aubrey, and for some reason– not excitement for the day ahead– Aubrey can’t sleep. He fishes in his bedside drawer for a Xanax, snaps it in half, takes it dry, and drifts off. The next morning he wakes to the feeling of his shirt being pushed up and feather-light kisses being pressed to his stomach. He messes around with Majid until both of them get off, and it’s half-assed. At least, he thinks gratefully, he can convincingly blame it on tiredness and not the Xanax. He can hear Majid padding behind him in his socks as he goes to the bathroom mirror to brush his teeth. He’s careful not to elbow Majid, whose arms are wrapped around him and cheek is pressed to his back, as he goes about brushing his teeth. 

“What are you doing today,” Majid mumbles tiredly from behind him. “And I’m watching you, don’t wash your face with that bar of soap in the shower.”

He licks the foam from around his mouth and spits, smiling as he tugs his shirt off.

“You, when I get home. Even if you are the soap police,” he responds coyly, washing his face with the dumb ass soap that Majid uses  _ just  _ for his face.

He blindly steps out of his boxers and into the shower, rinsing his face there. He wipes his hand along the already steamy glass to see Majid sitting on the counter across the room.

“Can I help you?” Majid asks playfully. “Where are you going today?”

Aubrey is sure Majid can catch the uncertainty that flits across his features. Suddenly, he wants to take the quickest shower ever recorded and get out of the room. Why, however, he doesn’t exactly know.

“Jordan is tryin’ to see me today ‘cause to him, it’s been a minute,” he answers, bracing for an adverse reaction.

“See you and do... what?” Majid asks, puzzled.

“I dunno. Maybe go to the studio or something, go for drinks. We ain’t have anything set in stone,” Aubrey returns, letting water hit his back and rinse the soap off of it. “You know how he does.”

“Oh, yeah…” Majid says, “I guess so. Let me know when you leave? I’m gonna go make something to eat, let me know if you’re hungry.”

“I don’t feel like eating right now, but thank you, baby,” Aubrey says, listening as Majid walks off.

The lack of ease in the room is palpable, even after Majid leaves, and Aubrey can’t understand it. He’s out of the shower and about to step into his closet when his phone buzzes on the dresser, making him take a detour to get it. Jordan is calling him, and Aubrey rolls his eyes to answer the phone.

“What?” he asks.

“Damn, nigga. Rude as fuck… I’m in the neighborhood, bro. Get that ass outside or I’m ‘bout to come inside,” Jordan shouts into the phone, making Aubrey cringe at the volume.

“God damn!” Aubrey exclaims, “You loud bitch. Okay, lemme go then, I ain’t ready yet.”

“HURRY UP!” Jordan shouts, extra loudly this time around.

Aubrey hangs up on him, tossing his phone on the bed as he looks for an outfit. He settles for the easiest thing he can think of under a time constraint: a jersey and whatever he remembers goes with it. By the time he's rushing an “I’m out,” to Majid as he quickly passes him to get out of the door, Jordan is in the driveway. The top is down on his car and a song Aubrey has never heard is blasting. He gets in the car and Jordan is smiling and waving, looking past him. He follows Jordan's line of sight and Majid is coming to the car to lean over the door and give Aubrey a kiss. 

“Be safe, don't make me come get you guys,” Majid jokes. 

“He's gonna be okay, your boy’ll come back in one piece,” Jordan says, pulling out of the driveway, “You ain't got nothing to worry about. Roy, say bye to your mama.”

“Look, man. Shut up,” Aubrey says with a laugh. “What's the move, Tre?”

Jordan grins.

“We’re going to the club, buying a few bottles, all that shit, you know the deal,” he answers. 

Aubrey knows; what he doesn't know, however, is if he's up for it. 

* * *

Aubrey steps out of the street filled with cameras and flashes and into the fast paced atmosphere of the club. He's met with an unsettled feeling so severe that he can only liken it to heavy pieces of lead nesting themselves into the pit of his stomach. He attributes the feeling to the paparazzi outside and tries to shake it, going with Jordan to party according to plan. He's zoned out, nursing a bottle of Hennessy, absentmindedly moving to the music when Jordan pats him on the back and a proud “I got some business to take care of,” slides past his lips and into Aubrey's ear. He nods, silently watching to see where Jordan goes; Aubrey's face twists with an expression of confusion as he approaches the back rooms and a woman waits a moment or two after he's entered one to follow behind him. Aubrey's unease comes back three times as strong, and he's so jittery that he almost jumps when someone starts to speak beside him. 

“Ain't he married?” a female voice asks. 

Aubrey looks to see who's talking; a beautiful woman above all else. The blue lights over the section they're in wash over her deep brown skin and it's stunning. Aubrey shrugs, not wanting to open his mouth up in order to lie, eyes returning to where Jordan and some unknown woman pulled a joint disappearing act.

“That's your boy but you don't even know what's up with him,” she says with a laugh, extending her hand for Aubrey to shake. “I’m Destiny.”

Aubrey shakes her hand, trying his best not to seem freaked out, shaking his head and smiling. 

“I know you know me.”

Destiny laughs. 

“You wanna dance?” Aubrey hears, much to his relationship-related dismay. 

“Do I wanna dance,” Aubrey repeats. “Well…”

Destiny shakes her head, smiling coyly. Something about her is so intriguing that he can't seem to pull himself away from her. 

“No,” Destiny says into his ear due to the music getting louder. “Do you  _ want a  _ dance?”

Aubrey feels like he should make up an excuse as to why he doesn't, but he can't think of one before he's already been led to one of the club's back rooms. Suddenly, he feels hot as Destiny pushes him into his seat a little roughly and straddles him. He feels like he could burn right through his clothes; she smells sweet, like vanilla and brown sugar, and the small flecks of glitter on her body catch in the light. “You don't have to window shop tonight,” coolly comes from her as she takes Aubrey's hands and puts them on her hips. He hates how his hands instinctively slide lower as her body moves, how it's second nature for his hands to roam her body like he doesn't have one waiting for him at home. He tucks a hundred dollar bill into her absurdly small crop top; she sits on his lap to unbutton it and let it and the money fall to the floor, leaving a bikini top that matches her thong. When she gets back up to dance, Aubrey thinks about how he could stop this and find a way to get home, or out of the club at the very least, but to him it feels more like a “too little, too late” situation. 

Destiny grinds on his lap and he can't help the comment that comes out of his mouth. No, it's not the money in his pocket, he likes what he sees, and he swears he'll want more han just a dance if she keeps it up. She laughs. Moments pass and he's giving her another two hundred dollars. He almost asks when she gets off, and that pulls him back down to earth. His blood runs cold like it does when he has a nightmare and he's trying to force himself to wake up. He feels like this whole night has been one of those dreams or movies where one feels awful dread but can't understand why until it's too late. Destiny knows something's wrong; she's stopped dancing to look at him, and that's when he realizes he needs to leave. 

“...I had a great time, baby,” Aubrey says calmly, getting up from where he sits and handing her another two hundred dollar bills, “But I got business to handle, you feel me?”

If he could run out of the building without looking insane and being met with cameras, he would. He still looks slightly out of it when he spends the next half-hour being mostly antisocial as he waits for his ride home. 

* * *

Aside from some swerving, unusual throwing up, and stopping at a dumpster to throw vomit-soaked sneakers and shirts away, Aubrey remembers nothing– when Majid asks, anyway. He can't bring himself to eat or look at Majid too long, so he's smoking on his back porch, trying to keep his nerves in check. 

His phone rings and he reads the caller ID, freezing as he hesitates to answer. He goes against his better judgement and picks up. 

“Tre, what's up, bro,” he answers, trying his best to seem enthusiastic. 

Jordan laughs tiredly.

“Roy, man, I ain't been out like that in a minute,” he admits lightly. 

“I know, man, I saw you with one of them girls last night,” Aubrey says, trying to sound as easygoing as possible. “You always been a dog.”

“Hey, look, you right, ‘cause… shit, I know where home is,” Jordan responds with a strained laugh. “What was up with you last night?”

Aubrey quietly takes note of how quickly the subject changed. He regrets even picking up the phone, because Jordan has suddenly and inadvertently forced his once unattainable truth on him: for some reason, he's ready to fill the void inside of him with whoever isn't at home waiting for him. Aubrey falls silent. 

“Hello? Roy?”

  
  



	2. but remember, he knows the bible too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> then the devil took him to the holy city and had him stand on the highest point of the temple. 'if you are the son of god,' he said, 'throw yourself down. for it is written...'

Majid dances along a slim pole of wood. He does a grand jeté; his sturdy, slim frame allows for a gentler coming down. He jumps again and as his feet meet the pole, shaking upon impact, he looks down. He sees someone setting fires below him, and that’s when he notices just how high up he is, and just how hot it is. He becomes hyper-aware of the sweat on his brow. Something compels him to keep dancing. The pole he stands on slowly starts to narrow, and he has tears in his eyes as he tries to keep from falling despite his strange will to continue moving. He feels as if he has a gun to his head, and he starts to feel sharp splinters of wood pierce his feet. Even though the heat around him is unbearable, the tears beginning to stream down his face feel even hotter, like they’re searing right through his face. His first utterance in this ordeal is a pained, ragged scream— and he slips. Somehow, maybe by a sliver of saving grace from somewhere, he hangs off of the pole by his legs, upside-down and vulnerable. He tries to catch his breath, but he finds it to be difficult. His head rushes with blood and his lungs burn, scorching pain plaguing them as if he’s breathed in water. 

As he gasps for air he feels the pole, the only thing keeping him from the small fires slowly spreading to connect with one another, tilt. It stops moving when it reaches a vertical position, and he’s able to reach behind himself and grab it with his hands. He can feel someone climbing down the pole, but he can’t raise his head up enough to look because he’s in so much pain. Tense, paranoid moments pass and he wonders no longer; Aubrey’s body is on his and the warmth that usually spreads through his chest isn’t there. Majid just feels burning pain, and it worsens when he looks into Aubrey’s eyes. All Majid sees are unreflective, soulless, matte black eyes with just as little emotion in them as the smile that spreads across his face as he speaks.

“Baby, do you believe it now?”

Majid feels himself slip and fall; just as the flames below begin to lick at his skin, he jolts awake in a cold sweat.

* * *

Majid– more so his younger self, anyway– stood firm in his beliefs. He was once asked by a close friend what his personal Hell was; he laughed and said he can’t have one if he doesn’t believe in it. As he grows older and wiser, he wishes he could still have such sureness day to day. Life is hard; it's not bad, but it is hard, he argues that it's just adult life. He's always known how to keep it pushing, even when life’s excitement somewhat stalls on him and leaves him with the mundane. He has a knack for being easily set onto things, regardless of what they are— feelings, projects, anything. Dangle something of interest in his face and he's off. Aubrey, his husband, knows better than anyone, it's why they're together. The negative side to this aggressive trait of Majid's is that it makes negativity dangerous. An offense committed in the heat of the moment, if serious enough, is mulled over regardless of apology. A day of depression turns into a week of paranoid, upset self-reflection. A bad review of his music turns into a twelve-hour studio session pinpointing his weaknesses in musicianship and obsessing over fixing them. 

Now, Majid believes, he's been started up again. 

“Look who decided to grace us with their presence! Have a good boys’ night?” Majid chirps from the kitchen upon seeing Aubrey emerge from upstairs much too late in the day. 

Aubrey shrugs with a weary groan, breezing behind him to look in the refrigerator. He doesn't sound like he got anything as he closes it; he's now looking in cabinets and reaching over to run a hand through Majid's hair. He mutters an “I got drunk as fuck, threw up, regular shit,” before admitting he needs air and darting out of the kitchen and out onto the back patio. Majid hates how gears start turning in his head because something feels so off. Ex-football player. Six-foot-three, two hundred thirty-five pounds. Only thrown up when seriously ill or having smoked too much, or being twenty years old and drinking like a fish. Only seriously put out of commission by long, rough games, serious illness, and pills. Not really affectionate. Not really affectionate. Not really affectionate. 

Majid stops there— he's solved the mystery he conjured up. Aubrey isn't being shifty, he's just being himself. Majid frowns, but wills himself to not get stuck on it, cleaning the kitchen counter until his phone rings.

“Habibi,” his mother says after he picks up, “I love these children, but come get them.”

Majid laughs politely. His mother has Adara and Rashad, his and Aubrey's two children, for a couple of days because she offered. 

“They're not messing anything up, are they?” he asks, bracing for the worst. 

“Just the level of food in my fridge,” his mother says with a laugh. 

Majid looks at the clock above the counter before he speaks. 

“I can be there in a couple of hours, and I’ll bring you something too,” he says sweetly.

His mother thanks him and rushes off of the phone because Adara is trying to do something that requires supervision. Majid looks forward to seeing his kids; they're one of the few things that, surprisingly, aren't stark reminders of life's fast pace. They're a sight for sore eyes, like seeing the shore after having been on the rough seas for days. He starts a mental to-do list up. Dinner. Set some aside for Mom. Laundry. McDonald’s for Adara and Rashad. Pick up Adara and Rashad, drop off dinner. Come home, get Adara and Rashad ready for bed. Work until tired. He stares in the refrigerator for much too long trying to decide what to make for dinner before he resigns to vegetable stir fry. Since it’s so quickly made, he’s able to cross the subsequent items off the list and go to the next thing. He goes from room to room picking up laundry, ending with his and Aubrey’s room.

He picks up the jersey Aubrey had worn the night before, and like a lazy person, he smells it to see if it’s actually dirty or if it can be worn again. He dismisses it as “clean” before he scowls and brings it to his nose again. When he inhales, he smells brown sugar and a touch of vanilla. He doesn’t quite like the smell. He stuffs the jersey in his bedside drawer as his heart and head start to race, throwing on a jacket and shoes. He’s about to walk out of the bedroom when he feels that he’s started up again, and something terrible tells him he’s going to be set on whatever this is for a while. He tries to shrug it off; he doesn’t always like being right, so he can only pray he’s wrong.

He takes a deep breath, breezing downstairs, texting Aubrey and telling him to come with him to pick Adara and Rashad up. He waits five minutes for Aubrey in the car before he starts to pull off. Aubrey jogs up to the car just as Majid is out of the garage and at the end of the driveway. There’s a smile on Aubrey’s face, and Majid hadn’t noticed how high and tense his shoulders were, because as soon as he sees Aubrey’s smile, his shoulders drop and he can’t help but to smile back. Despite the relief, his smile falters because of his dream and Aubrey’s earlier behavior but he rolls his eyes dismissively.

“You almost got left,” Majid fusses.

“You ain’t leavin’ me, ever,” Aubrey says, laughing.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Majid says, eyes on the road.

* * *

Majid picked the kids up, got them dinner, took them home, and put them to bed in record time. His time was so great that he now has the whole night ahead of him. Aubrey is somewhere in the house; only God knows what he’s doing. Unreasonable anxiety tries to bloom in his chest and make it tight, so his plans of dance-rehearsing the night away are nixed. To his home studio he goes, messing with synths until he hears from the machines what he hears rattling around in his brain. From there, he works until he’s tired, letting his forehead rest on a group of keys that make a dissonant array of grating noises. His eyes drift shut as he thinks that he won’t be here asleep for long.

He can wake up anytime he wants— at least, he thinks so.


	3. time is ticking, hurry...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "and abraham lifted up his eyes and looked, and behold, behind him was a ram, caught in a thicket by his horns. and abraham went and took the ram and offered it up as a burnt offering instead of his son."

Aubrey can't sit peacefully with the strange feeling in his stomach. 

He considered going to a therapist and immediately came up with reasons why that would be terrible. Among them was the fact that if he admitted to one thing, he'd be told to reveal more and more. That would leave him wide open. Vulnerability isn't really his speed– it never has been and never will be. Aubrey even considered telling Majid but something told him he wouldn't get a favorable response. To him, the best outcome of that conversation would be complete forgiveness and no strange calls to stray again, but that's not feasible for him. At all.

Thus, after many other options are considered, he goes against his better judgement and makes a phone call to the last person he needs to speak with at the moment. 

“Roy!” Jordan happily exclaims on the other end of the line. “What's up with you?”

“Tre,” Aubrey starts, voice flat because he's afraid of giving away his massive amount of unease. “I need a favor, man.”

“Anything for my brother, you already know. What do you need?” Jordan readily asks. 

“That girl from the other night...” Aubrey trails off.

Jordan sighs happily, making Aubrey's stomach tighten with a now familiar feeling of dread and an unfamiliar, sickening one of grief. 

“Nia,” Jordan says wistfully. “That bitch can make any nigga’s dreams come true, and that's on everything I love.”

Jordan swearing on ‘everything he loves’ leaves Aubrey a bit nauseous, almost enough to hang up— almost. He takes a seat on the couch in the living room, knowing nobody but him is home and therefore he can talk about completely and utterly horrible bullshit freely. 

“You got her number?” Aubrey asks somewhat quietly. 

“Fuck no, nigga,” Jordan says incredulously. “Are you dumb? That's how you get caught up, you let hoes like her believe you wanna keep in touch ‘cause they think that you think they're special. Nah.”

Aubrey rolls his eyes at Jordan's rant. 

“Fuck it, then,” Aubrey resolves. “Look, I’mma talk to you later. I got something to do.”

He hangs up before Jordan can respond and takes to Instagram. With a bit of common sense– and simultaneously a disturbing lack of shame– he finds Destiny’s page. He follows and messages her; the move is somewhat smart because Majid doesn't have Instagram. Can't get caught if you aren't in the same place, Aubrey figures. Surprisingly Destiny responds quickly. She's not in town but she's surprisingly close to where he is, so he plans to ask if she wants to meet at a hotel when she's free that day. His finger hovers over the ‘send’ button and he scowls, frustrated.

With one move he could be jumping head-on into the beginning of the end in a multitude of ways. To name it ‘scary’ would be an understatement, but something inside of him still pushes him to go with it. It's such a menacing urge and it has him torn– however, it doesn't matter because he sends the message anyway. His heart noisily thuds away in his ears but his insides feel empty, as if someone opened him up and shook everything inside of him out. Destiny replies a couple of minutes later, telling him how much money she wants. He rolls his eyes at that but agrees. He tells her to take the service elevator up to the room. He also tells her to keep quiet about the ordeal because he doesn't like his business laid out for everyone to see. If only it were that simple, he thinks. 

* * *

  
  


Aubrey, with little pushback due to his status and charm, takes the service elevator up to the floor his room is on. He stands in front of suite 811, looking at the plate displaying the room’s number because he can see his reflection in it. He looks nervous, and this causes him to force himself to fix his face. He doesn't find any justification for what he's doing, he figures he can come up with something later. All he knows is that he wants what's behind that door, and not much else will matter until he gets it. He won't ask why right now because all that's proved to do is cause him stress for an unrecognizable reason. 

He takes a deep breath and keys into the room, entering and seeing Destiny on the bed, on her side. Her braids are swept over her shoulder, long and pooling on the bed. The warm lighting in the room makes her look like she's glowing. She's not in anything really head-turning on its own, just black lingerie, but her body and her allure make it seem like so much more. She smiles at Aubrey, the dimples in her cheeks making an appearance and making him wonder if she has them in her back too. She beckons him to come over, moving to sit on her knees so she can compensate for some of the surprisingly small height difference. She kisses his neck gingerly and lifts his shirt up to take it off; her knuckles graze his stomach and make the muscles there tighten up at her touch. 

She tosses his shirt on the floor and kisses down from his neck to his stomach tortuously slowly. Her eyes are on his as she undoes his belt and pushes his pants down halfway hastily so she can take him into her mouth. He can't say it's the worst head he's ever had; the same goes for when he fucks her. 

It doesn't feel wrong— in fact, it feels great. Maybe it's something about the way Destiny can't stop herself from borderline yelling into the pillow her face is in or the sound of the headboard roughly knocking on the wall. Maybe it’s how he feels he doesn't owe her any tenderness, how she won't say anything about it, and how it all inflates his ego. They finish and Aubrey pays Destiny in cash. She tries to start an argument with him about not being given a few more minutes to stay.

“The fuck do I look like?” Aubrey asks, unreasonably filled with contempt. “You pushing it. Go.”

“I’m pushing it?” Destiny asks incredulously. “Wow.”

“You are not my fucking girl, Destiny, go, for real,” Aubrey shouts. Destiny tosses the cash she had in her hand at Aubrey's chest, leaving with a ‘fuck you.’

Aubrey sits in bed, going to text Majid that he should start to get ready to get taken out; he thinks he'll take Majid for ice cream or something. He can't hit send for a while because of how he feels sick. It's a kind of sickness he's never felt, inexplicable, like nausea on an empty stomach. He calls his assistant to ask to have a change of clothes sent to the room and steps into the shower, scrubbing his skin hard enough to make it turn red. He wants every trace of what happened off of him. He doesn't like the fact that he fucked Destiny– it didn't leave him feeling very satisfied, and her shitty attitude didn't help. He feels resentment towards her and towards Jordan, even, for taking him to the club in the first place. 

* * *

  
  


Aubrey pulls up to the curb in front of his and Majid's house, rolling the window down to shout out of it. 

“Come outside, baby, I ain't waiting all night.”

Not even a minute later, Majid comes running out of the house. A flash of denim and hair fly to the car and get in. 

“Sorry,” Majid sing-songs. “I couldn't think of what to wear.”

Aubrey takes a moment to look. A denim jacket that's acid-washed sits on Majid's shoulders; Aubrey knows what's on the back because he remembers when Majid had it custom made. There's a large, rather explicit image of two cowboys made up of rhinestones there. Majid, compared to other nights, is quite plain. No makeup, hair simply falling down his back in inky black waves. Even as ‘plain’ as Majid presents himself tonight, he'd still stand out in a crowd— at least, that's how Aubrey feels. Majid is so beautiful, despite being such a worldly person he always gives off an air of purity. He's perfect, a lamb perpetually decked for slaughter– the ram conveniently caught in the thicket, sent to save someone else from the suffering of sacrifice.

“You can't look any more beautiful than you already are, baby,” Aubrey says coolly, hand on Majid's thigh as he pulls off.

Aubrey decides on an ice cream parlor downtown. As they sit, Majid eats more than his half of the ice cream sundae he shares with Aubrey and talks. Aubrey listens— or at least, he attempts to. He's lost in his head, and his attempts to pull himself out of it are feeble, not succeeding for long. He tunes back in to hear Majid discussing Adara.

“I just think she is a little stubborn at times,” Majid says of Adara with a roll of his eyes. “I think she gets it from you.”

For some reason, Majid's comment causes Aubrey to be a bit incensed; he, however, does not show it. He instead nods, laughing and convincingly feigning ease. 

“I just know the right way things should go, and I think everybody should trust me on that,” Aubrey says. “That ain't a crime. Is it?”

“No,” Majid responds with a laugh of his own, running a delicate hand over Aubrey's hair, “but you are as hard-headed as they come, love. Don't get me started on Rashad, Allahuma.”

“He's hard-headed too,” Aubrey dimly contributes.

“Not just that, he's at THAT age— all he wants to do is be angry. I miss when he was my best baby friend,” Majid says, pouting slightly. “It's misplaced anger, and I know a therapist could help with it, but I don't want to make him feel as if… as if he's just some nutty child, you know?”

Aubrey turns the phrase ‘misplaced anger’ over in his head, his face straight. He can feel anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach. He feels as if he's been slighted, even if it would have been indirect at best if that's what Majid had been going for.

“Aubrey,” Majid asks. “I think you're somewhere else, babe.”

Aubrey's focus snaps to Majid. 

“I'm sorry, baby, you know how I get,” he quickly says. 

The fact that Majid can sense something off in him with no problem makes Aubrey feel more than a little guilty. This triggers a stark realization: he fucked up, and he's left to pick up the pieces. Like a broken glass, he can only get visible shards for now. Because of his own doing he has to wait to cut and stab himself on the unseen ones that are yet to come. 

“I love you,” he says, questioning the validity of his own statement. “Don't forget.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spelling errors? ignore them. thanks -management


	4. la dolce vita

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "i'm your deadly nightshade, i'm your cherry tree. you're my one true love, you're my destiny."

No seemingly prophetic dream happened for Majid the night before. For that, he is grateful. The previous night brought sweet spontaneity from Aubrey, something Majid hadn’t seen in a while. He even got fucked to sleep, to be absolutely crude about things– he’s used to that, though. One thing Aubrey will always be is insatiable, and that’s fine with Majid. He sleepily walks to the bathroom, running a hand through his hair and looking at his reflection when he gets to the mirror. Aubrey’s in the shower. Majid steps in because he wants to be seen. Aubrey greets him with a kiss, backing him into the shower wall unceremoniously as he does so. He laughs. 

“You're in a good mood this morning.”

Aubrey grins.

“You wouldn't be if you woke up next to you?” he asks, picking Majid up so he can kiss him with ease. 

“Let me down,” Majid says, “I gotta hurry up and shower so I can take Adara and Rashad to school this morning.”

“They can ride the bus, I’m tryna talk to you this morning,” Aubrey says, not letting go of Majid. 

His low tone weakens Majid's will the slightest bit. 

“Stop,” Majid says, blushing. “I told them I'd take them today, and plus it's Career Day, I gotta get ready for that. You got to do it the other year.” 

Aubrey lets Majid down reluctantly, turning him around and washing his back for him. He stoops down to Majid's level, washing his chest and his stomach for him and speaking in his ear. 

“You get home…” Aubrey trails off, pressing a kiss to Majid's cheek. “you're mine, I'm serious.”

Majid makes a noise that could be received as either distress or disapproval. 

“Don't do that right now, I’m not about to go there with you, Aubrey,” Majid says rather weakly, turning around to look at Aubrey, who’s smiling irritatingly wide. 

* * *

  
  


Majid thinks his neighborhood is great, he swears, but the ridiculous distance between it and a store that sells groceries is a bit absurd. So, in the spirit of saving time– especially this morning– he's opted for finding the nearest gas station. He grew up frequenting the stores there anyway. He's stopped at one now, rushing out of the car while running through his mental grocery list. He just needs milk and coffee, that's it. He scans the store quickly so he can get from point A to point B the fastest, and his plan is foolproof because he's at the register in no time. He's not up yet and it's killing him as he checks the time on his phone. He's on a tight schedule and he doesn't want his children late for school. 

He realizes he's in his own head too much, as always, and he forces himself to come back to Earth. If he's being completely candid, he's grateful to be where he currently is in life— for a minute he didn't think he would (or could) really get married, much less have children. Luckily it happened, and luckily he has enough love for three people and then some. He wouldn't change a thing, he thinks, save for Aubrey, just a little bit. He squeezes his eyes shut momentarily softly shaking his head. He opens them quickly, gaze flickering around his immediate line of sight, and his eyes land on a magazine. It's one of those rather crass, and for lack of a kinder word– shitty– gossip magazines. Some poor person’s been caught doing something they probably shouldn't have by someone who can afford a year's worth of ramen if they get one good picture of it. 

Majid is finally up next in line, getting a closer look at the magazine. He pauses. He'd recognize Aubrey anywhere, but here is the last place he'd expect to see him. Not only does he see Aubrey's unmistakable, sizeable frame and the familiar clothes upon it, but he also sees “ROY THE JUVENILE” in unavoidable yellow lettering. Something inside nags at him to ignore it, but something greater urges him to take a copy. He's pulled out of his thoughts by the cashier excitedly saying his name. His head snaps up, a smile immediately masking the expression of displeasure previously set upon his face. 

“Hi, lovely,” he says kindly. 

The cashier is a sweet girl, undoubtedly still in high school or fresh out of it. Her demeanor is exceptionally bright and excited for a young adult awake at seven-fifteen in the morning. Majid thinks he had some of that same enthusiasm a couple of minutes ago. It's definitely escaped him now. 

“Oh my God,” she says, clearly holding some excitement back in an effort to keep a cool appearance. “I saw you at The Forum last year, you were amazing.”

Majid hears the sincerity in her voice and almost lets out an ‘aw,’ but refrains. He also sees the expectant look that comes before a request for a photo. He wonders if she can see the gears turning in his head like he can see for her as he glances at the magazine once more. 

“You want a picture, huh?” Majid asks, trying to sound as friendly as possible, picking a magazine up. “Tell me how much all the copies of this magazine would be.”

“Take ‘em, they never sell anyway!” the cashier says, getting her phone out. Majid poses for a picture, smiling sweetly, before taking his groceries and the magazines and rushing out. 

“Lovely to see you!” he shouts as he leaves, running to his car and speeding a bit to get home. In record time he's in the driveway and then in the house, leaving the magazines in the car. He calls Adara and Rashad from the kitchen, letting them know they have five minutes before they miss breakfast, he goes back to sleep, and they have to catch the bus. He hears the thud of feet running down the stairs almost immediately, and when Adara and Rashad make it downstairs Majid sits them down for breakfast. He sits with them as they eat, unable to pull his thoughts from what he saw earlier. His lip is caught between his teeth as he thinks, driving himself even more insane when he realizes that he hasn't even read the actual headline yet or really even looked at the entire cover in general.

He hears the sound of dishes hitting the sink and his head snaps to the sound; Adara and Rashad are ready to go. Aubrey races downstairs to tell them goodbye. He pulls Majid back just as he gets to the door and kisses him sweetly. Majid almost gives in to the want to push him off, but instead hugs him. He's maintaining a good attitude for Adara and Rashad. 

The ride to school is relatively short but fun nonetheless. They sing songs, discuss assignments and grades, and Majid genuinely enjoys the peaceful time he's gotten with his children. When he’s dropped them off and he's back on the road, he silently slides a magazine from under his seat, looking at it when he's stopped at a red light. Aubrey is at a strip club– Majid knows exactly which one– but more importantly, he's with a woman. They're clearly on their way to the back, and not on the lookout for the manager’s office. If the image weren't bad enough to have Majid out for the count, the headline delivers the final blow: ROY THE JUVENILE CAUGHT IN CHEATING SCANDAL. 

Majid quietly lets grief settle in. It sinks into him so deeply and so quickly that he feels as if his body is draped in a fur coat with weights sewn into the lining. His head feels white-hot, with resentment seemingly filling him to the brim. He doesn't know how to feel. He knows how he feels currently, but he won't know what to do or even how to feel when he sees Aubrey. Right now… right now all he can feel is unadulterated resentment and disdain that runs deeply enough to scare him. He almost feels somewhat guilty for how he feels right now; it's almost as if a switch inside of him has flipped. He's in shock, that's what he'd say if he could even open his mouth to sum things up. For the most part, he's always been docile with Aubrey and quite patient. He's been gentle with Aubrey's heart and understanding of him as well— even while his supposed love stopped at a “my bitch” brag on a record and a “you're my girl” while Majid was on his back for him.

Majid sits in the driveway now, genuinely surprised he made it all the way home while on autopilot. He stares blankly ahead; he doesn't know for how long. He now feels a lot of nothing. The only thing that makes him gather himself and go inside the house is his realization that he's due for a public appearance later. He remembers he hadn't eaten before dropping Adara and Rashad off so he eats a peach, chasing it down with water. The walk upstairs to his and Aubrey's bedroom feels similar to the walk out of a courtroom post-inescapable conviction. His feet almost drag, as if everything in him doesn't want him to go into the room. He makes it there– somehow– and Aubrey is laid out on the bed, on his phone. The thought that he could be communicating with someone else, even the woman from the cover, crosses Majid's mind, making him angry almost immediately. However, he masks the emotion with a soft smile. 

Aubrey's mouth moves, but Majid can't register the words leaving it. His mind is currently working on feeding him something else; ‘IT CAN'T BE, IT CAN'T BE, IT CAN'T BE,’ as if the message is on a ticker at the bottom of a news broadcast. Looping repeatedly, no end in sight. Funnily enough, Majid hears it so much that he considers this all being some sick fever dream. Maybe it's all a big misunderstanding. Majid feels Aubrey grip his waist before he's getting picked up by him. Like clockwork, Majid's legs wrap around Aubrey's waist. 

“I told you that ass was mine when you got home, I wasn't playing,” Aubrey says somewhat humorously, making a chill run through Majid's body. 

Majid falls into Aubrey too easily; he sees this now. He knows what it is, too; Aubrey is good at the games he plays. His mouth is slick, anything can slip out of it and sound convincing. Sand falling through fingers. He's like a cracked mirror, reflecting whatever he's given. Though, Majid can still see him for who he is– if he tries hard enough.

That's what he fell in love with, so what can he do now?

* * *

  
  


Majid thinks today is just a day for second guessing. He sits in the back of Rashad's classroom in high-waisted trousers and a matching blazer, hair combed back. He feels a bit too editorial for a classroom full of eighth graders. There's not much Majid can do about it now, but he's still a tad upset over it. Then again, Majid's brand  _ is _ doing more than what's suggested. Before he can think any further, Rashad's teacher introduces him and he's at the front of the classroom, subject to adolescent oohing and ahhing.

“Hi! I’m Majid, you may know of me because of Rashad, or maybe you've heard a few of my songs– regardless, I am very excited and honored to meet you all,” Majid says, straddling the line between excitement and, well, talking to thirteen year olds. “I gave it away by accident, but I’m a singer. I write songs, too.”

A girl raises her hand. 

“Yes?” Majid responds.

“Can you sing something?” the girl asks, making Majid blush; children can be tougher judges of talent than the Grammy committee, he knows this personally. 

“How about this: start a song off and I’ll sing with you,” Majid offers. 

The girl, who Majid learns is named Anissa, agrees, (thankfully) singing one of his songs that's on the tame side. When they finish he tells her she sounded beautiful, and it's her turn to blush. She gives him a hug. He takes another question afterwards. 

“What are your songs about?” a boy asks. 

Majid takes a moment to turn the question over in his mind before answering. 

“Being yourself, being your own best friend… sometimes they're about being sad, and sometimes they're about love,” Majid replies. 

His answer haunts him for the rest of the presentation, and on the way home. He's in the driveway, having sent Adara and Rashad inside to find their father and make their dinner. He stares at the magazines, still on the floor, in astonishment. He doesn't have the composure he swore he had, he understands this the more he looks at that stupid fucking picture. He's like a cracked vase put together without glue; it'll look nice but it won't hold water when put to the test. 

Majid silently goes inside, kissing Adara and Rashad on their foreheads before sending them to bed. He looks for Aubrey and he's nowhere to be found. Majid goes to open his phone and sees it's been silent since the presentation began. There's a text from Aubrey in his notifications saying he's working late and may be home late. Majid huffs out a laugh. 

It's four in the morning when Aubrey gets home, and Majid can smell the same perfume from days ago on Aubrey. After the kids leave for school the next day, Majid wastes no time. He takes one magazine out of the stack and places it upon the bed, making sure it looks as “perfect” as possible. 

No turning back now, Majid thinks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this while starving myself. that's all please ignore errors I can't read


	5. a new cavity moved into...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "my eyes are green."

Hate fucking is what Aubrey calls whatever the fuck it is he's doing with Destiny. There's no way there's any good feelings involved aside from sexual pleasure. Destiny rides him hard, the sound of their skin meeting over and over ringing throughout the room. Aubrey closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at her; he instantly regrets this because he sees Majid immediately, letting a pained “fuck” slip out. He turns the both of them over, trying to get out of his head, but things get worse when he looks Destiny in the eye for too long. He can’t do it anymore; he rolls off of her, trying to catch his breath.

“What is it now,” Destiny breathes out exasperatedly.

“You always got a fucking attitude, Destiny, the fuck is wrong with you?” Aubrey asks, irritated and getting out of bed to put his clothes on. 

“Maybe I got an attitude because every time we do this you come on some bullshit,” Destiny responds. “You always think something is wrong with me but you don’t even know what the fuck you’ve got going on. That’s just funny to me.”

“Fuck you, Destiny. You don’t know me. Watch how the fuck you talk to me,” Aubrey tells her, walking out of the hotel room and slamming the door behind him.

He doesn’t know how long he can do this; he doesn’t know if he can live his life putting on such a deceptive front. It’s killing him from the inside out, almost as if the rot in his heart is spreading to his other organs and decaying them too, like the result of complacently leaving a rotting apple next to perfectly good ones. He’s starting to feel pain in his chest, and he doesn’t think he’s imagining it. He drives home, wondering if there are any redeemable parts of this situation. His (very quick) conclusion: there are none. He can’t even be comforted by his alleged anonymity. In fact, that makes him feel worse. 

All Aubrey knows how to do is hide– he's known this for the longest. The way he sees it, it's him against everyone else, regardless of who claims to be in his corner. The best defense, at least in his mind, is to be an apparition. Better yet, a myth. He'd like for everyone to wonder and gossip about him as much as they’d like but never truly know a thing aside from what comes directly from his own mouth. The more he withdraws, however, the more he feels cowardly. 

He's running– from what, he doesn't know, because he won't risk looking back to see what it is. 

* * *

  
  


Aubrey stands at the front door of his and Majid's home, sighing. He takes a second to gather himself, standing up straight and taking a deep breath, ringing the doorbell. After around a minute, Majid answers the door. He looks beautiful, draped in a silk robe, dark hair flowing freely down the front of it and complementing the bright red of the robe. Aubrey hugs him quietly and Majid does the same.

“I’m sorry I got home late, baby,” Aubrey apologizes, still holding Majid. 

Majid draws back, holding Aubrey's face in his hands and shushing him. Something is different today, Aubrey can see it in Majid's eyes, and even more so when Majid smiles. It's a shadow of one compared to how he usually smiles at Aubrey. 

“I trust you,” he says, “‘Cause you love me. Right?”

Aubrey feels so insubstantial, like if he knocked on his chest it'd make a hollow sound. He imagines the echo shattering his ribcage and scattering bone about, placing microscopic, painful cuts in everything they touch. Even then, that pain can't at all compare to how Majid's question stings. 

“Of course, you're my girl,” Aubrey says with a half smile. 

Majid's smile falters so shortly that if Aubrey didn't know him so well, he would've missed it. That's how quick it was. Majid takes his hand, leading him upstairs to their bedroom. 

“Tell me... does anything catch your eye?” Majid asks, his demeanor soft– it's so much so that it's out of character for him. 

Aubrey looks around the room; he's usually not easily shaken up, but he knows something is very wrong. He's nervous. His eyes drift from his nightstand to Majid's, but something catches his eye on the way, making his gaze snap back to it quickly. The sound of his own heartbeat slams in his ears as its pace picks up. There laying on the bed in all its sickening glory is a magazine with him, Destiny, and his name on the cover. He can't help but to stare at it in silent disbelief. He knew this all would catch up with him, it was imminent, really, but it's happened so soon. It's like he opened the door of a hurricane shelter just to get swept away by the wind and thrown into the unforgiving current. He feels Majid's hand rubbing his back and wants to disappear– he would beg for something worse but that's too easy, he thinks. He's suspended between grief, guilt, anger, and he can't tell what else. He's left to float along with no help in sight, and it's all his fault. 

“You have another cover under your belt, my love,” Majid says, his quiet and somber tone the kind Aubrey has only ever heard when Majid hasn't been in a forgiving mood. “Are you proud?”

Aubrey turns to face him, scrambling to say something, anything, to stop the inevitable bullshit that's about to come crashing down upon him. He's terrified. 

“I… baby, please, hear me out,” Aubrey says.

“I’m listening,” Majid says. Aubrey can hear the resentment in his soft tone. “Go ahead.”

“I  _ was  _ at the club during that boys’ night with Jordan. I got a dance from Destiny, but I never touched her, I promise,” Aubrey says, feeling pitiful about how he automatically omitted parts of the truth.

Majid huffs an incredulous laugh out. 

“Not that night, at least,” Majid says, his tone slowly straying from being one of composure. “Where were you the day before yesterday?”

Aubrey goes silent, and the floor seems a lot easier to look at. Majid pushes him, sniffling. 

“Come on, you have an answer for everything else, where's that mouth gone now?” Majid asks. He's not full-on bawling; his eyes just well up with tears until they stream down his face. “I’m waiting.”

“I was at a hotel,” Aubrey answers half-heartedly. If he elaborates on what happened there he's positive he’ll die of shame. “Only for a couple hours.”

“Oh, don't be so meek, Roy— that's what she calls you, huh?” Majid asks, his breath catching as he tries to breathe in. “You were fucking somebody. I’m even willing to bet it was Destiny, if you want me to keep playing this sick little guessing game with you.”

“It was-”

“Shut the fuck up, you're lying!” Majid interrupts with feigned disbelief, picking the magazine up and flipping to the page where, no surprise, there's pictures of him and Destiny leaving the hotel at different times. “I didn't have to guess.”

Aubrey is starting to feel like a victim— he can't explain it. 

“What the fuck do you want me to do, then?” Aubrey asks, exasperated, sad, angry, grabbing Majid by the shoulders. “Tell me. Tell me now. Cut the bullshit.”

“Fuck, don't touch me,” Majid warns. “You want to touch a bitch, go get Destiny. But don't you ever lay a dirty fucking hand on me.”

Aubrey doesn't let him go. 

“Why won't you listen to me?” Aubrey asks, knowing the question is pointless. He's so painfully lost, and he's already lost the one person he cares about most, he knows it. 

“Look what the fuck you did! You've made me look like a fucking fool. Day in and day out I sit here being the perfect  _ everything _ for you. This is how you fucking repay me, by fucking someone else and then coming home and telling me I’m your girl. It's all bullshit. I don't know why I ever trusted you. You showed me who you were a long, long time ago,” Majid says, trying to pry Aubrey's fingers from around his arms. “Get the fuck off of me.”

It's Aubrey's turn to laugh. 

“I showed you? You showed  _ me _ . All those fucking years I wanted you and you acted like I was nothing. Don't lie, you think you're better than me, you act like you know you could do better. What am I to you?” Aubrey angrily counters, grasping for straws. “You only wanted me when you did because you saw I was finally doing something for myself. Opportunist. So, what am I to you?”

Majid's hand is in and out of his robe’s pocket in a flash as he pulls out a switchblade, a pained and panicked “let me fucking go,” escaping him as he swipes at Aubrey's arm with it. Fuck, he forgot Majid was out of his fucking mind. He lets his uninjured arm fall to his side, staring at the gash in his arm. Blood the color of cherries ripe for picking seeps out, slowly trailing down his arm. Majid stares as well before looking at Aubrey's face with an oddly calm, yet still distressed, expression on his own.

“What are you to me? A fucking snake. A bastard, a fucking liar. Get the fuck out,” Majid says, voice shaking a bit despite his obvious attempt at sounding levelheaded. “Go get Adara and Rashad from school. Tell them you're going on a business trip. Lie and say you love them. Bring them back here and don't fucking come back.”

Aubrey aches from head to toe, inside and out, so much so that he can't even dispute Majid's claim about him not loving his own kids.  Fuck _feeling_ like a coward, he's learning he is one. 

He's planning on running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teenager - deftones

**Author's Note:**

> not my best work but i don't write chaptered stuff enough so


End file.
